Wednesday, October 29, 2014

When I asked you to pray last week for our big/little plan we'd hatched for Saturday, I didn't mean to be coy or get anyone too keyed up. I was just feeling shy about things. I didn't want to jinx it by saying too much. Our idea was a bubble in our chests - a fragile, quiet thing. pop! (<< - That's what I was hoping to avoid.)

I had a handful of friends who emailed or sent texts or grabbed my arm in person after reading my post and said something to the effect of, "Hey, what the heck are you doing Saturday?" I got all blushy and spilled it. Now, it's your turn.

A year ago, we had the idea to offer free family pictures to our neighborhood. I'm not sure what inspired this, other than two simple realities 1) My husband takes pretty pictures and 2) Many of my neighbors might not have the opportunity (for lots of reasons) to do this thing that we take for granted.

In the end, we ran out of October. The dreamy light retreated and all the leaves turned brown underfoot. Blerg. Maybe next time.

It came up again this September. Here's how the conversations usually went:

Me: We should do the picture day this year.
Him: Yep. Let's do it.
Me: Okay, when?
Him: I don't know. We'll have to look at our calendars.
Me: Our month is busy...
Him: I know...
Me: But we should at least try.
Him: I agree.
The end.

As in, we never got anywhere. We never actually did anything.
We talked and yammered and hemmed and hawed but the simple task of sitting down, picking a date, and marking it in pen was apparently too much action for all our good-minded chatter.

Here's the root of it: Once you write it down, you're accountable. Even if it's just to yourself.
The truth is, we were scared. I'm not entirely sure why.

Our instinct was to micromanage every single detail and every possible pitfall in advance. We wanted it to be perfect. We believed if everything was exactly right, the odds for success would bend in our favor. In fact, our obsessive planning for a perfect family picture day guaranteed that not a single family would smile for the camera.

It might not be perfect. Maybe the weather would mess with us. Maybe no one would trust us enough. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

What were we really so afraid of?
What did we have to lose?

Cory put together a basic, bi-lingual flyer and walked door-to-door with the kids. They passed out 50.

A few days later, I typed up my SOS blog post while butterfly wings flapped in my chest.

Friday was gorgeous. The picture-perfect October day. Things were looking up.
Then Saturday dropped by over 20 degrees. Rain fell all day, and we'd turn to each other and shrug. We knew we'd obeyed. We had done our imperfect part. It was alright that the day was already a flop.

We showed up when we said we would.
Cory framed his shot. We hopped back in the van and waited while the windshield wipers laughed at us. Uh-uh. Nope.

No one came.

I drove home with the kids, fielding questions from the backseaters. "Why did we keep waiting there? Why didn't anyone come? Why did Daddy stay?"

I don't know why I felt so happy. I wasn't sure why "failure" made me grin.
I thought of you, about how I'd tell the whole truth: obedience is worth the risk of failure.
We've got to come to the place where we fully believe our life and our days and our DSLRs are not our own. If we can't trust God to send us out, how can we call ourselves followers?

And then.

My phone buzzed with a text from Cory."A family just showed up!"

There they were, 2 parents. 8 kids. A mash-up of bloodlines and heartstrings and "you belong to me"s. These were people who knew a thing or two about what makes a family.

In puffy coats and matching nothing, they squeezed close and smiled.

We planned all week for this!We've never had a family picture.We switched weekends with their mom so we could all be together.

And I cried the whole way home.
Because one is enough, guys.
I promise you, it is.

They came in the rain and we were so close to bailing.
We were so close to a different ending, one where they planned all week and zipped their coats then showed up at an empty park, forgotten. Again.

Of course we didn't change their lives with a free 8x10.
But ours changed more than a little.

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

While you all know about the recent turn of my fickle heart toward secondhand fashion, (hey, camo coat!) you probably also know that when it comes to my jewelry and accessories, I'm utterly devoted to a few companies that create gorgeous things along with economic freedom for women in developing (and often oppressive) countries.

fashionABLE is one of those companies, perhaps the one dearest to my heart, since I traveled with them to Ethiopia last summer and saw this intangible "opportunity" alive and in full color. These women pour their lives and souls into their work, weaving gorgeous scarves by hand in a small but joy-filled building made of corrugated metal.

I will never, ever forget them.

This week, fashionABLE is turning 4, and they're celebrating by offering store-wide mark-downs up to 45% off, with free shipping on all orders over $100.

THIS IS THE TIME TO GET CHRISTMAS SHOPPING STARTED, PEOPLE!

I bought 4 scarves the last time they had a big sale thinking I would use them for teacher gifts, but ended up giving them to various friends who hosted me in their homes in recent months. These are the BEST gifts ever, because 1) everyone loves them and 2) you're pouring into another family across the globe through your purchase!

fashionABLE also has leather goods like this clutch and their new Tizita bracelet set (see photo above) that I cannot stop wearing because it works with everything. (The beads are 100% recycled metal melted down from artillery and scrap metal.)

There are scarves as low as $20 right now, so hop to it!
They also have a cool line of "Game Day" scarves, featuring team colors.

PS - Fearless leader Barrett Ward was just awarded GQ's Leader award! Read the article to get a great overview of all they do to empower women.

"Charity is important, it's critical, and I've started a non-profit
before. I believe in it," he said. "But at some point charity should
stop and economic opportunity should begin, allowing people to thrive
and create their own way."- Barrett Ward

Monday, October 27, 2014

Last night Cory and I were eating bowls of soup at 10:45 pm (duh) trying to figure out how/where we could find the entire series of Seinfeld because it's been too long and we need a new (old) show and I have a crush on Jerry and he has a crush on Elaine and don't even get me started on Kramer.

We didn't have any luck, but sitting there under the granny square afghan, I felt a pinch of the blues. I wanted to be back in that little cabin. I wanted to be traipsing around in the crunchy leaves. I wanted my kids to be on fall break another week. I wanted late nights and no responsibilities.

It felt good to be huddled up.

Alas, the shorties didn't feel my pain.
They woke with the roosters this morning, all keyed up and ready to see their friends. It's supposed to be 77 today, so Calvin snuck in one last "shorts" day.

Calvin and Ruby officially started chess club this morning before school. Ha! I have no idea how to play chess. They don't know either, but they will soon.

As they were getting ready I told Ruby "them", "Remember, you have to listen and pay attention. You're going to learn how to play chess! It'll be fun, but it's not going to be rowdy."

She gave me the funniest look and said, "That's it? That's all we're going to do?"

Yup.

Since the week is in full swing and I know now's my last chance to preserve my vacay state of mind, I'm sharing a few more key moments from our get-away.

(Make sure to read to the end, because I have some questions for you...)

Earl Grey at a little brunch cafe. I brought my own tea bag. Ha.

We stopped at the BEST junk/antique store ever and both of us took one picture with our cameras before the owner ran out screaming, "No pictures!" I said, "I can't even tag you on Instagram? Because people need to know about your place!" Nope. No way. Uh-uh.

sigh.
I don't get it, dude.
Art is meant to be shared!

We found a Thai buffet.
WHAT???!!! I'm so obsessed with Thai food.
GIVE ME ALL THE CURRIES.

I posted this pic of my Anniversary '14 souvenir on Instagram and almost tipped the world off its axis. People thought it was some trippy optical illusion, like I had a window cut out of my body. At first I was so confused, but it ended up being one of those times when the power of suggestion proved an untameable beast. Now it's all I can see.

Okay.

So.

I did a little thrifting. For you.
Cory dutifully dropped me off at 3 different stores and read his book and/or napped in the van while I shopped my brains out.

I found some very good things. (And some great things in plus sizes!)

But I need your input.

The first go-round went pretty well, but here's what I learned.
1) Shipping is more than $6 (It can vary between $6.35-$9)
2) It can take more time than I'm willing to give to categorize and track down winners
3) It can take more time than I'd like to admit to shop for, photograph, and post the outfits
4) Shipping stuff is not my spiritual gift
5) I REALLY LOVE SHOPPING FOR PEOPLE AT THRIFT STORES

So, I want to keep doing this. At least another time or two.
But in order to make good use of my time and in order to not lose money, a few things have to change.

It won't be as much a "cheapest outfit ever" scenario for you guys, but it's still a heck of a deal for a super rad, good quality outfit (always two pieces that can be mixed and matched with the rest of your wardrobe,) delivered to your door.

Do you still dig it?

I'm also going to make the requirement that you include an email address in your comment if you're interested in an outfit, which should make it much simpler to let you know you won and to finish the transaction.

Sunday, October 26, 2014

On half of the Sundays, I go to church as a "single" mom, just me and the kids walking that back alley while Cory is speaking at other churches in the area, telling them all about God's goodness in the land of the living (aka the county jail).

I wish I could say I'm always positive and supportive about these Sundays. The truth is, they can be a bit of a bummer. Not a huge inconvenience, but enough to make me grumpy on the inside.

Today was one of those days, for a whole slew of reasons. Even though the kids are older, I'd prefer to have Cory's help getting us out the door. I'd prefer to have him sitting next to me at church and walking home with us at noon.

Last night I spent my evening cooking a meal for new friends who bailed today. (This is a recurring theme, but that's a whole 'nother story.)

Then Robert and his crew stopped by just long enough to knock over a table and break a flower pot (not a big deal at all, just a chaotic and LOUD 10-minutes.)

Cory came through the door at 12:30, the house cleared out, and we sat to eat from the giant pot of soup. I wondered, can't my sacrifice be good enough for these four faces? Of course it can.

And I wondered about those new friends of ours, about Robert and his rowdy friends, about tattooed necks and R's new hat with #BITE ME stitched across its front.

There are days when we feel like we're pedaling hard in reverse.
There are days we've lost our brakes and we careen. We tumble.

There are lots of days when I wonder if anything is enough, if anything helps, if we'll ever stop thinking we're wiser than we are.

I want every stereotype busted and every judgment called out - especially my own.
I want to draw from the reserves and refuse to believe people can't change.

I want to see God's glory in the hurting and the forgotten and I want to believe - really trust in my gut - that He's greater than addictions and jumbled patterns and years upon years where love is only felt as a deficit.

Cory handed me a letter at the scuffed up dinner table and I read it out loud, as our prayer. It was written from a former inmate and the church he visited today surprised him with it.

Cory and I met when I was going through a lot of hard times. I guess I look a little crazy in some people's eyes because I'm tattooed from head to toe. Not in Cory's eyes tho, he seen a man in need of help. Cory used to talk to me about what I've been through and where I'd like to be in life. This led me to a rehab center at the Salvation Army. I don't know if Cory knows this, but he changed my life. See, I went to rehab and got to know Jesus again.After some time and a lot of tragedy, I found myself back in jail. Cory was on me this time, but more about God. See, what got me the most was how much work Cory was doing in the name of Jesus. I used to think to myself that I wish I had the love in me that that man's got. Well Cory will tell: We all got that love in us. We just have to embrace Him.

It's pastor appreciation month, and I've never appreciated a pastor
more than the one who leads my family and loves these wounded men with a heart that knows its own humanity. So proud of him and so grateful that God allows us to be part of His plans. My gripes are so petty when laid against the truth of God's redemption.

Friday, October 24, 2014

Cory and Calvin are maniacs for Fall.
Like all the rest of you weirdos.

Don't get me wrong, I can appreciate the changing of the seasons. I love the rhythm of a 4-season climate, at least in theory. When autumn falls, we live differently, dress differently, cook and eat differently. Sounds poetic, right?

The main problem is, I don't like being cold. I don't even like being chilly.
I'm the girl who loves climbing inside a car that's been baking in the sun on a summer day. That stifling rush of heat feels so good. (That same heat could make my grown man want to cry...)

While I'll always be more of a summer girl, I'm really jiving with fall this year.

Makes no sense to me.

I'm noticing its beauty in a new kind of way.
I don't feel quite as rageful toward the dipping temps.

It has inspired me, and not just to buy pumpkin spice english muffins.
I'm talking full-on inspiration. LOOK OUT.

Last week, I caught the light spilling through our tiny window, all hazy and dreamy.
I'm so glad I grabbed the camera, framing up our messy coats into a moment of gratitude.

A few days later, I found my old ginkgo garland and strung it up.
And you know how these things go...if you give a mouse a gingko garland, she'll decide to tidy up and take a few more pictures. It's bound to happen, from time to time.

(Hallelujah, sometimes I do crave order! I haven't fully lost myself!)

Sidenote: That arrow, peeking around the corner.
It makes me happy.

I found it last year at the Salvation Army in Van Wert, OH, looking all dusty and ashamed.
It was probably $2.

Of course I wasn't looking for a wooden, house-shaped shadowbox thingy.
But I grabbed it up, turned it sideways and said to myself, BOOM.

Then I brought it home and forgot about it for 5 months.
Then, we had our polar vortex and spent days upon weeks indoors.

Sometime in February, I dug it out and made it into this.

In a perfect world, I would paint those "bulbs" gold. And maybe space them out differently.
But who the heck wants to live in a perfect world???

I thought I had invented this idea, but soon after my epiphany, one of the decorating mags showed a similar outcome using those cardboard letters from Hobby Lobby.

Then this savvy lady pulled off a super rad arrow using a dorky bird house.

All the arrows! All the time!
Redemption to the wooden crafts of the early '90s!

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Cory and I hightailed it up to Michigan on Sunday to belatedly celebrate our 15th anniversary.
We used to get away together more often...back when life was different in lots of ways. Upon reflection, we've only had one night alone in the past 18 months where we weren't sick as a coupl'a hound dogs.

Summary: We were long overdue.

For two nights, we stayed up late, slept in late (our dream schedule!) ate fantastic food cooked by NOT ME, read books, strolled around, held hands, took selfies, ate snacks, took naps, adventured, and generally had a blast together. We also hot-tubbed.

The first night we talked about the kinds of things that require mental energy reserves and zero interruptions; important things like mission and little kids and big kids, community, church, the jailbirds. We'd caught a breather, so we regrouped and dreamed without restrictions, our faces barely lit, feeling bold and gutsy in boiling hot water under sheets of stars like the ones in the movies.

Just before my face started to throb (my signature "you've had enough hot tub, Martin") I flashed back to 13 years ago, sitting at my end of our blue striped couch, bawling my eyes out because I was in a mess of a marriage and I couldn't see an end.

I wanted out. Everything felt hopeless. All I could imagine was an eternity of unhappiness. Things had spiraled so quickly and I was terrified of the shifting ground. I felt unloved, unlovable, very alone. (And everything I felt, Cory probably felt double.)

Right there against the backdrop of my misery and the dingy paint job of our "economical" apartment, God shoved past my crap and told me the truth about things. "See how hard the enemy is fighting to destroy you two? Just imagine what he's scared of. Just imagine the good you'll do with me, together."

In an instant, a page turned.
I felt the slip of paper under my fingertips, heard the rustling brush of words on words, saw, for the first time in a good, long while, some white space. Room for a future.

I had no idea it was what I wanted, what I'd been looking for.

That was the beginning of this right here.
We couldn't possibly have imagined it.

We moved to DC, re-soldered our mangled commitment to each other, got jobs in politics, hitched our stars to the American Dream, went to church, payed our tithe, adopted babies, bought a farm.

I clung to those cheap-carpet words whenever I felt tremors beneath our fine-tuned life.

I decided our little ones were the "good" we were doing together.
And they were. Still are.

But I had no idea there was more.

I didn't imagine a future of loss and instability and surrender and loneliness.
I didn't dream of a little house on a shabby street, a failing public school, or that my husband would spend his days with criminals but call them his friends.
In my wildest wishes, I couldn't trace the shape of a tall kid with an ankle bracelet and a heart broken so long, he thought it was supposed to feel that way.

Back then, I thought bigger was better and more was more.
I thought Jesus kept His best gifts on the tallest shelf, so I climbed. With my husband.

It would have been foolishness to imagine that our greatest purpose, our near-tangible peace, would look like bits of broken dreams.

Wearing a ridiculous bikini, skimming the bubbles with my fingertips, staring at my man, it clicked into place. It crystallized.

This life right here, this was part of God's purpose for us, inked before the first bloom of time.
It's not so exceptional. It's not the kind of life they make movies about.
To us, it is ordinary.
It is grueling, some days.
It can feel thankless and annoying and sometimes, boring to its core.

All those gifts I mentioned, the ones I didn't even know to ask for, they aren't because we did anything right or because we're very smart in the ways of righteousness. They are grace. Only grace. The kind that makes you fall to your knees. The kind that makes you remember your depravity. The kind that makes you believe God can meet you in your darkest hour, sit down beside you on your secondhand couch, and tell you to shape the heck up. Cut the drama, already. There's work to be done, but you've got to drop that torn-up net you're holding and follow Him.

Cory and I have talked about that moment plenty of times, but it felt good to say it all again, in order.

Bubbles blurred the edges of all our words, and there we were; one set of brown eyes, one set of blues. Still locked on each other when common sense would have said otherwise.

God defies gravity, friends.
He laughs at our foolish "logic" and our made-up psychobabble. He holds our world at a scary-sharp angle and says it's level.

What feels real to us often isn't, and only when we take a hard look at His unbending love for us, His endless mercy for us, only when we're so desperate that we actually listen, can we begin to see straight.

That's the kind of weekend I had.

*These are all phone pics, the step ones and selfies courtesy of Cory.

Friday, October 17, 2014

I spent a recent evening sharing part of my story with a group of
women whose hearts keep a beat similar to my own. We were at an adoption
conference, so I talked about each of my four children, some of whom
sailed into our family from across oceans, some who skipped across the
St. Joe River like a smooth stone made just for our hands.

But of course, nothing about the blending of families and cultures and forever can be described as sailing. And fractured beginnings don’t inspire anyone to skip.

For weeks I prayed about what these women (myself included) needed to hear from the Lord. Over and over, He spoke one word to me, “Chosen”...

Thursday, October 16, 2014

My neighborhood has never been more beautiful than it is today.
After two rainy days, the leaves are putting on a show. Almost every tree is on fire, brash and brazen and daring any of us to believe God doesn't care. Just one look out the window and we know better.

I rushed out the door this morning to spend an hour in Silas's kindergarten class. The sky was still netted in fog, the kind of beauty that makes you stare, the kind that could turn us all into poets.

I wished for my camera. I framed the image in my mind, clicked just once on the shutter. By the hour's end, the fog had lifted, but I had seen that romance out past the glass. I had noticed. And so had some of the kiddos. Documented or not, it was real. And, I think, personal.

This is who God is.This is how He loves us.

Cory and I have been spending our evenings talking about this new stirring in our hearts. God is moving here. He keeps showing up in the wildest ways in our little neighborhood, in the school, in jail. Our neighbors and Cory's friends are God's beloved, and we watch Him gather us all up together.

We're family, and He wants us to really believe it, but more than that, He wants us to live like it.

We spent the summer resting in what simply is. We finally understood God was going to have to do the negotiating and all the heavy lifting. We are driven to the hurting and the forgotten, yes, but it's up to Him to piece us all together and direct our paths, because if left up to us, the whole thing hits the concrete in shards of pride, pity, duty, and resentment.

(Can you tell we've walked this sidewalk before?)

Lately, people are coming our way. They're finding us. We're finding them. We pray to stay soft to opportunity and suddenly, the connecting part almost feels easy. All we've done is wait while we live.

But I'm that maple leaf, clinging to the limb. I don't want to fall.
I get nervous and guarded. I trade my fear of being pushy for a refusal to move at all.

For over a year, we've had a dream that sounds small but feels really big.
The clock ticking, we pulled it together in a rush, knowing in the corners of our hearts it might be a pathetic failure.

The good news is, we're starting to view "failure" quite differently. Maybe taking the leap is all the "success" we need right now.

My neighbors and I, we have things in common: we need to experience the love of Jesus to survive. We need to know it's real. We need reason to believe we haven't burned up all our chances.

That's the best place to start.

If you could, say a prayer for us on Saturday.

I'm' not even sure how to
tell you to pray. We just want to see the love of God move among His
people. We want it to float on the breeze and fall around our friends'
ankles in heaps of can't-miss-it color until they know it was meant just
for them.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

I'll be honest, I wasn't sure what to expect with how this whim of mine would be received by you guys. This kind of felt like the Biggest Test Ever of how well we "get" each other.

Will they dig it?
Will they finally decide, after years of contemplation, that enough is enough?
Will they doubt my choices?
Will they break up?

The good news is, the wedding is still ON!We're still a thing, you and me. You're Thelma, I'm Louise. In it to the end, minus the dying.

The comments were such a frenzy that was forced to Google "how to turn off comments blogger" for the first time in 6 years. Don't be mad, baby. I didn't have a choice. I couldn't handle more comments/new comments/all the wonderful, enthusiastic Goodwill-geeking comments BECAUSE I WAS BUSY CREATING A SPREADSHEET.

Another bloggy first.

This project required the careful tallying of each and every bid.

(I wish I could don my handy Martyr hat and pretend I hated it, but you don't work as a policy wonk at a political think-tank without emerging an even nerdier version of yourself. Bless it, Robert Rector.)

It feels impossible to articulate at this hour how much the bell curve distribution of said spreadsheet data blessed me. Who knew??? (I originally had a screen shot of the spreadsheet on this post, but it caused my blog to rebel and act fussy, so I had to take it down. Just know: Almost perfect bell curve.) I put exactly zero thought into the order of the outfits on the post. Honest to goodness, I was worried about ol' #6, with the lace and the gingham. It felt so FPFG that I was sure it was more of a niche combo.

I'll be honest though, I'm pretty disappointed at your overall disregard for outfit #7. Why you gotta hate, baby? My friends Sarah and Kim came over for dinner Monday night and of course Goodwill was a hot topic of convo. Of the poor, brown jacket, Sarah said something to the effect of, "It doesn't wow me," to which I hauled every last outfit down to my kitchen (where they still reside, cough cough) and we sorted through them.

Kim tried on the brown coat like a boss-lady and loved it. BECAUSE IT IS AWESOME. I will admit, perhaps I could have paired it with a different shirt. I'm working with some limitations here, people! Just trust that should you see her rocking her tweed faux-moto (fauxmo?) jacket around town, you will blaze with crimson shame over your loss.

Poor, poor people-coat.

Now, for our winners.

Listen. Silas chose them. It felt like the only fair way and I thought it could be insightful. It wasn't, really. But I had hope that it could have been.

Last night I hauled the laptop up to his bed and we went through each list of names (often multiple times so he could remember his options.) He picked the name he liked best. I will now list the names, along with his reasoning for choosing it, but please remember, it was late. He wasn't quite on his game. (And his game is WEIRD.) I annotated his rationale beside each winner.

Right up front, I'd like to offer my apologies to Darby.
He is 6.

One last disclaimer: I'm fairly concerned about things fitting the winners right. Should you find that your items don't fit or you just don't love them, there is a staunch no-returns policy, because it will be a miracle unto itself if I even get these sent out in the first place. (I believe! I do!) So, in a case such as this, you would have two options: 1) re-donate it. Look at it as a ministry. 2) comb through the comments on the original post and contact a loser. And by "loser," I simply mean "one who did not win." Just to clarify.

Winners, you can Paypal me $16 at (shannandmartin@yahoo.com) and be sure to include your shipping address in the notes.

Will I do this again? Oh, I think I probably will.
You guys are such enablers.

Luv,
FPFG

*Michelle - I spotted a couple small darkish spots on the back of the sweatshirt when Kim tried it on for fun. I didn't realize they were there before. They are small and not super noticeable, but I totally understand if that's not your jam. If you are still interested, the price is $5 (rather than $10) plus $6 shipping. Also, the striped T has super-fun sequined bling on the front stripes! I had forgotten about that...

Monday, October 13, 2014

A couple weeks ago I was all keyed up about the Secondhand Challenge, so I did what I always do when I get like this: I drove to Goodwill.

I thought I'd be there for 20 minutes.
In and out.

I found a few really cute things, but sometimes they weren't in my size, or other times, I would remember I don't need another gray sweater.

I thought, hmmmm...maybe I should just buy this outfit and use it as a giveaway for my blog homies. They might love it.

But then I felt like that would be discriminatory against all the other sizes.

Let me back up.

I've always had this weird thing about feeling bad for the underdog, even when said "underdog" isn't a living person. Even when it's less than an actual dog. When I was a kid I would sometimes wear a shirt I hated just because I didn't want its feelings to be hurt. By me. To me, they were like people-shirts. Shirt-people.

(This is getting weird.)

You might think I grew out of it, but a couple weeks ago I was at an ice cream social and every single person was getting vanilla with chocolate sauce, not even caring about the lime and raspberry sherbet sitting all woeful and drippy to the left.

Yada yada, I had the vanilla. But I'm still ashamed.

I like things to be even.
It brings me deep peace.

SO. I bought 4 outfits, Small, Medium, Large, Extra Large.

But then I bought more.

(This was my holding rack. I whittled it down and hauled a bunch of it off to the janky fitting rooms...)

(This is what made the cut.)

So, the really bad news is, this isn't a giveaway.
But the good news is, I rounded up a bunch of rad secondhand outfits AND YOU CAN BUY THEM.
For ten bucks. (Plus $6 shipping.)

Disclosure: I can't foresee a situation where I would spend $16 on a secondhand outfit. I get it. I wish there was a way around the shipping fee. I mostly just wanted you to see there's really fun stuff to be found for SO little.

Each outfit cost $10 off the racks. And I found 90% of it in one trip to Goodwill. Just imagine the damage you could do on 1/2 off day! Or with a coupon! I'm getting all wound up and using "excited marks", as Silas calls them.

Anyway, if you're interested in one of these outfits, leave a comment telling me which one you want and if there's more than one person who wants it, I'll draw a "winner".

It's like Ebay, which means you can have this all-too-familiar convo with your husband:
You: I won that outfit!
Him: You won it? So it's free?
You: Well, no. But it's cheap!
Him: So you didn't win it. You bought it.
You: I won it. For a small fee.

This is also the right time to say that I'm specifically not telling you the brands.
Because that's the whole point: IT DOESN'T MATTER.
In some cases, you'll be crazy surprised.
And in other cases, you'll be crazy surprised. In the opposite way.

This will open your mind FOREVAH!

Also,
you'll notice the sizes seem wonky. This is another Secondhand Life
Lesson. When you buy secondhand, always be sure to look one size up, and
one size down. Because you're mixing brands and even fashion eras (fit
standards change over the years) you can't rely on just your "size".

I'll shut up now and let the people-shirts do the talking. (Each outfit description is above the photo it describes.)

I'm sorry, but I can't let this do its own talking.
I have to interject and say how much I love this sweater and how perfect it would layer with almost everything you already own. Also, wear it with a scarf.

(I hope you clued in to my very high-end photo studio. Two pieces of wrinkly sheeting left-over from when we backed La Fiesta Mexicana curtains.)

TMI.
Moving on.

Outfit 2
Size: 14 (blazer) Large (cami)
Includes: White lacy camisole thingy with a mustard yellow under-layer, Red blazer that I WISH fit me because when I tried it on (I tried every piece, just to make sure the outfits "worked",) I fell deeply in love with it, making every other people-jacket in the joint burn with feelings of inadequacy.

Outfit 3
Size: XL (blazer) M (t-shirt - def more of a L than M)
Includes: Brown corduroy blazer that you will wear every day of your life, super-soft pumpkin/oatmeal striped T.

Outfit 5
Size:12 (jacket), M (t-shirt) (Again, this is sized more for a Large.)
Includes: Black/White/Multicolored tweed jacket, Gray V-neck T.
(I want to lick this outfit. I love it so much. I love all of them because that was my litmus test: Only buy it if you would wear it. But this is 100% me. I would wear it OUT.) (Don't tell the others.)